


A Dangerous Devotion

by kayleeireland15



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayleeireland15/pseuds/kayleeireland15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In present-day Barry, the tables have turned. Mitchell is the only one left of the original trio, with Annie and George gone. He reveals his secret to his girlfriend of six months, Celeste, and the turn of events from there is not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Devotion

She could see in his eyes that he wasn’t well. She knew what he was, but she had no idea how much pain it caused him. She was only human after all. And he…he was a vampire. 

She came home at around one o’clock in the morning, eyes red and mascara running down her face from the once endless flow of tears. She had stormed out hours before, terrified and upset. He had told her his secret, and she hadn’t taken it well. 

As she stepped inside, every cell in her body told her to run away again. But then she saw him, on the couch, staring at the ceiling, helpless. He had heard her come in, but hadn’t acknowledged her existence. She could see from across the room that he had been crying as well.  _A vampire crying_ , she thought, _how odd_. She cautiously took a step forward, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

“Mitchell,” she whispered.

“Why did you come back?” he asked sharply, his eyes still locked on the blankness of the ceiling. His voice cracked in the way a voice can only when you’ve been crying. She could hear the hurt in his voice as well, and it shattered her heart like a vase having been knocked off of a countertop.

“Mitchell, I’m so sorry. It was wrong to leave,” she said, stepping closer.

“Why did you come back?” he repeated, looking over at her. For the first time, she could see a small glimmer of vampire in his eyes. 

“Because…because I love you. It shouldn’t matter,” she said, flattening out her creased orange dress, trying to keep from crying again. She stepped toward him even more, kneeling down next to the couch. Next to him. His gaze had returned to the ceiling. She reached for his hand and he yanked it away, as if he were scared. 

“You were right to leave, Celeste. You shouldn’t have come back. You’re only going to get hurt. All I do is hurt,” he said, the pain in his voice becoming more prominent with every word.

“Mitchell, we’ve gone months without me knowing. Without you hurting me. If you had really wanted to, you would’ve killed me already.” She grabbed his hand again, and he didn’t pull it away. In fact, he seemed to squeeze it ever so slightly. 

“Celeste, you aren’t safe. Nobody is safe. I may have controlled it for now, but who knows how long I can hold out?” The hurt in his voice was unimaginable. A small part of her, right on the surface, was terrified. Goosebumps began to rise on her delicate skin, and a shiver rushed down her spine. “If I kill you,” he continued, “I could never live with myself. But I would have to. And I wouldn’t be able to control myself anymore. I’d tear the world apart.”

“Don’t say that, Mitchell, please.” She started to let go of his hand, but he only squeezed it tighter. A bit too tight. “Mitchell,” she whispered, “you’re hurting me.” At this, he released immediately, shaking slightly. 

“See,” his voice quivered, “pain.” He sat up, hung his legs over the front of the couch, and put his face in his hands. His shoulders began to shake, and she could tell he was holding back sobs. “I…I can’t do this anymore, Celeste. I can’t. The pain doesn’t stop. Not just for my victims, but for myself. I can see each and every one of their faces.”

She reached her shaking hand toward his face, lifting his chin with her fingertips. The tears rolling down his face clearly reflected the remorse pent up from constant murder over the last hundred years. She could, deep down, see the human in his eyes. Celeste brushed the curls, stuck to his damp face, away. She used the back of her hand to wipe away his tears, and he responded by doing the same to her. She hadn’t even noticed that she had been crying as well. 

“Help me, Celeste. Please. Take the pain away.”

“Mitchell, darling, I don’t know how to help you. You just have to keep fighting.” She truly didn’t know what to tell him. All of this was relatively new to her. 

“I’m so tired of fighting,” he said, his voice breaking off at the end as his head fell against her shoulder. She could feel his hot breath and warm tears seeping through the sleeve of her dress. She clutched his head against her, his thick curls entangled in her fingers. She wrapped her other arm around his back and could feel every short breath he took as he cried into her shoulder.

“I know you are,” she said softly, “but you have to keep going. For me. Please.”

He lifted his head, wiping away his tears with the thick wool of his fingerless gloves and trying to catch his breath. “I’m so scared,” he whispered, “I’m so scared that I’m going to hurt you.” In response, she leaned in and kissed him ever-so-lightly for the first time since finding out what he was. 

Celeste picked herself up off of the floor and sat beside him on the couch. He leaned into her, his head between her arm and collarbone. He wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, burying himself into her like a child. She stroked his hair as he held onto her. He didn’t want to let her go, because he knew she’d get hurt. But he also knew she was in danger there with him. They stayed there in silence for ten minutes before he, out of nowhere, said the unthinkable. 

“It would be so easy to kill you right now,” he said, his voice flat and deadpan, “Just one jerk of my head, and I could sink my fangs into your neck. I could drink you dry. You poor, innocent little human.” Celeste shuffled nervously. 

“Mitchell…” she began, but then she saw it and stopped. His irises weren’t their normal beautiful hazel. They had darkened, and they now blended effortlessly with the blackness of his pupils. With a blink, they turned immediately back to their original colour. He inhaled sharply and looked at her shocked face. He sat up quickly, panting, as if he’d just run from a burglar in the night. 

“It’s getting so hard to control. You aren’t safe, Celeste. I think you need to leave.” He refused to look at her, refused to rest his eyes upon the innocent and horrified greenness of hers. But Celeste had a knack for wisdom, and quickly analysed the situation. The monster and Mitchell were not the same. They were simply trapped in the same body. The Mitchell part needed her. He needed her to prevent him from letting the monster loose.

“I’m not lea–“ she started. He jumped up.

“Go!” he shouted, pointing at the door. She knew that he wanted more than anything for her to stay, but he wanted her to be safe. She jumped up, tears beginning to well up in her eyes again. 

“No!” she shouted back, “I’m not leaving you. And it isn’t because I love you, it’s because I don’t want to be responsible for all the people you kill when I’m not there to stop you!” The words slipped from her mouth carelessly and she couldn’t stop them before they escaped. She watched helplessly as he crumpled to the floor.

“That’s what this is? Morality over love?” he asked, his beautiful, hazel, puppy-dog eyes back to normal, and almost pleading with her. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it,” she replied, “I love you. I love you more than you know. If I didn’t, I would never have come back to you.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Celeste. I just…I just can’t do it anymore. I’m so alone. I’m going to kill you if you stay here, and it’s going to ruin me.” There was that heartbreak in his voice again as he hung his head, shaking it slightly, trying to rid himself of his pain. “What I said, just then, that was the lust. The blood lust. I’ve tried to suppress it for a hundred years, but it’s becoming stronger and I’m getting weaker. Sometimes, I have to give in. I…it…will kill you.”

There was a long pause. What seemed like an eternity for both of them, each of their minds spinning and churning with how to comprehend and handle the situation. 

“Recruit me,” Celeste said, breaking the silence sharply and seriously. 

“W–what?” he replied, not believing that she had said those two words in that order. 

“Recruit me. If I’m a vampire, like you, then you can’t kill me. At least not by feeding from me.”

“I…I couldn’t. This life is hell, Celeste. I couldn’t put you through it,” he stood up and took her hand in both of his. 

“I want to help you. Save you. This is the only way,” her voice quaked. 

“You’ll go through what I’m going through. You don’t want this. Immortality. Pain. Brutality.” His words were telling her not to, but his eyes said otherwise. 

“I’m not going to let you destroy the world and yourself because of me. I’m saving not just you by doing this, but your victims as well. If you can’t kill me, I can keep you from killing.”

“Sweetheart, you will have the lust, too. You will want to feed.”

“Then we’ll do what you did. We’ll board up the windows and doors and do it together, right? We’ll have each other.”

Reluctantly, he nodded slightly. 

“Okay.”

“But, Mitchell…” she began, shuffling a bit anxiously. 

“Yeah?”

“If I kill anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , stake me,” she said, squeezing his hand. 

He didn’t respond, and pushed the thought out of his head by quickly changing the subject. She looked at him, waiting desperately for his response. Finally, he replied with a brief and sudden nod. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked several times, to which she replied affirmatively each time. “When I bite you, count for fifteen seconds, then push me off. After that, I’ll let you drink from me. No more than fifteen seconds. That will be enough to nearly kill you, but you have to push me off, or else I may not be able to stop myself from finishing.”

They both nestled into the couch, and Celeste sat up straight as Mitchell pushed the hair away from her neck and tilted her head. 

“I love you,” he whispered before he wiped his mouth, his eyes went black, and his fangs sunk into the porcelain skin of her neck. 

It took her breath away, and she could barely count. She could feel her blood, her human blood, being drained from her body. The pain was excruciating. She stared at Mitchell’s watch intently, with wide eyes, watching as the first ten seconds ticked by in what seemed like hours. Five…four…three…two…one…

She threw him off of her and gasped for air, weaker than she’d ever felt before. Every part of her throbbed with searing pain. She watched helplessly, paralysed, as he bit into his own arm and then held his wound to her mouth. Unable to resist, Celeste let Mitchell’s sweet blood run over her tongue and down her throat. Just as her eyes closed and she slipped away, a rush flowed through her like an electrical current. 

“You okay?”

“Never been better.”

The crooked smile on his face was bittersweet. He had killed her but saved the world. Everything was normal, but she could already feel the curse coursing through her veins. She and Mitchell were immortal, together. Her mind could focus on only one thing, though: blood. 

His hand drifted to her knee concernedly, his fingers moving in little circles and lines, as if drawing, like he always did. 

“Celeste, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, with concern in his voice. 

“Yeah, I’m just…I’m thirsty,” she said, looking up at him, “Can you get me some water?”

“You have the lust,” he mumbled quietly, ashamed, “It isn’t water that you want; it’s blood.”

“So, so I’m a vampire now, yes?” she implored.

“Yes, sweetheart, you are. Just like me.” Once again, she heard the shame in his voice. “I’m so sorry that I did this to you.” She couldn’t comprehend just how sorry he actually was. Not really. 

After a while, Celeste regained her full strength, and more, and helped Mitchell board up the windows and the doors. 

“This is a bit drastic, don’t you think?” she asked as he hammered in another nail. The veins in his arms and neck were clearly visible and pulsing, and she wanted to feed from them. She didn’t know why. She just…did.

“No, it isn’t. This will prove to be only a roadblock. You have vampiric strength now. This could hardly stop you. But that’s why I’m here,” he said, finishing the last nail, grabbing her hand, and walking down the hall. 

He took her to the basement; she had never been down there before. They passed a large cage, and she tugged on his hand a little. He looked at it, and then at her. 

“George,” he muttered sadly, and continued walking, weaving between corridors. Finally he stopped. They stepped into a small, dank room, equipped with only a chair, a weak light hanging from the ceiling, and one small stool in the corner. 

“Sit,” he instructed, and she obliged. He turned and locked the door with eight different and seemingly complicated locks. Seemed a bit much to her. 

“Mitchell, what’s going on?” he asked.

“Shhhh, just relax,” he cooed, turning to face her, eyes darkened by the shadows cast about in the room. 

“Mitchell, I’m scared,” she mumbled, and he crouched down next to her. She could see the deep care in his eyes, and knew that whatever he was going to do, he was doing for a reason. He pulled out four belts and some thick metal wire. 

He put his hand lovingly to her face and whispered, “I’m doing this because I love you.” He proceeded to bind her arms and legs to the chair, and she remained silent. He yanked on the belt too hard on her left wrist, and she whimpered. 

“Too tight?” he asked, and Celeste nodded. “Good,” he said, “It should be.”

They spent hours in that room. Celeste’s thirst for blood was becoming unbearable. She had never even tasted human blood, only Mitchell’s. But she wanted it. There was a deeper, instinctual, cellular lust. Every bone and muscle in her body ached with longing and desire, weakening her by the second. He had been there before, and he knew just how she felt. He laid his head against her hand, and she could move her wrist just enough to stroke his hair slightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and she stayed quiet. The thirst was so brutally painful that she physically couldn’t make a sound. “What I would give for you to hold me right now…” he said, completely out of character, and his voice trailed off. She wanted to hold him more than anything, just to feel the physical contact, to know she wasn’t alone.

“Untie me. I can’t hurt you. Let me hold you for a while, and then you can tie me up again,” she said. The thought of holding him really did make her feel better. It diluted the thirst a bit.

He nodded slightly and hesitantly untied her. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Unimaginable anguish?” he asked as he helped her from the chair. 

“Yes,” she whispered, the sound barely escaping her lips. This lust for something she’d never even had was unbearable, like a food craving amplified to a point where it was compulsory. He stayed silent, and Celeste knew he was reminiscing and wallowing the shame that he had brought this upon her. 

She fell against the stone wall, not even bothering to ease herself down. Mitchell caught her by the elbows and helped her slide down until she was safely on the cold concrete floor. He knew that she was exhausted and frail. He adjusted himself and placed his head on her lap, nestling into her thigh like a small child. Celeste rested her head back against the bricks, closing her eyes as her fingers fumbled with the curly locks of Mitchell’s hair. Once again, his hand strayed to her knee, where his fingertips drew those same, incoherent little patterns. Eventually, her hand wandered between his shoulder blades and stilled as his breathing slowed and he drifted into sleep. He couldn’t fight it. She was intoxicating. 

With a sudden spark, Celeste slowly slipped from under him, gently lifting his head and placing it down on the hard ground before walking to the door. After carefully and quietly unlatching all eight locks, she turned for a brief moment to see the true love of her life asleep on the floor, still believing she was there with him, before opening the door and slipping out. Fighting every emotion, Celeste walked out. After all, she was thirsty. 

As she walked toward the door, Celeste desperately wanted to call out to Mitchell, but the lust was simply too strong. It brought her to the door, ripped off the wooden boards quietly and efficiently, unlatched the lock, opened the door, and dragged her outside. She wandered through the dark streets, drenched in sweat, scrounging around for her first victim. She finally came upon the alleyway that she knew to be a prime spot for kissing drunken couples. It was early in the morning, now, around four on a Sunday morning. Prime time for young kids who had had much too much to drink. She tottered towards the alleyway, weak with thirst, and found exactly what she had been looking for. They never knew that she was standing there until her fangs flashed and her eyes turned black right in front of them. The both shrieked at the same time as she caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. A window, cast in shadows, reflecting both people, but not herself. The couple ran away as Celeste fell against the brick wall down to the damp street, sobbing, her head hung in her shaking hands. Seconds later, Mitchell, in his leather jacket and black jeans, rounded the corner. 

“Celeste!” he yelled, running towards her and skidding at her feet. 

“Mitchell,” she cried as she fell into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her long, auburn hair soothingly. 

“Shhh,” he whispered, “It’s okay. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you.”

“I almost killed them,” she cried harder. 

“No, shhh, stop that,” he said reassuringly. 

Then, she saw it in his pocket. A large wooden object, freshly sharpened. A stake. 

“What is that?” she asked, pushing him off of her and pointing at the stake, her mind completely clouded by fear and emotion.

“You told me before I turned you that if you killed anyone, for me to stake you,” he said innocently.

“And you were actually going to do it?!” she asked. 

“Of course not,” he mumbled after a long pause, “I’d like to think that I would, but I’d never be able to do it.” They were silent for a moment, both of them staring at the damp Barry sidewalk, before she spoke up. 

“You should,” she said. 

“I should what?” Mitchell implored.

“Kill me,” she replied, looking deeply into his eyes, his sweet, almost human eyes, “Right now. Before I hurt anyone. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I won’t be able to do this. I can feel it. I’m going to give in. Please.”

“Sweetheart, no,” he whispered, taking her hand gently in his, “I can help you. What happened tonight will never happen again. I promise. I can save you. It’s my fault that you’re like this. Let me fix everything.” His voiced cracked, and she knew that he, once again, felt horrible about recruiting her. 

“Mitchell,” she said, brushing the hair from his face carefully, “I’m not the one who needs saving, remember?”

“Wait, but listen!” he said, his voice a loud, anxious whisper, “We can save each other. We both need to control the lust, and we can do it together!”

“What if I don’t want to control it?” she asked, completely deadpan. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, placing his hands on each side of her head and holding her tightly, looking deep into her eyes, as if he were trying to understand how her brain was functioning. 

“What if I want to feed? To kill?” Celeste asked, not looking away, but instead looking directly back at him. The vampire in her saw the physical pain on his face. The human in her saw the pain in his soul. 

“No,” Mitchell choked out, “You need to stop talking. This isn’t you. This isn’t the girl that I love.”

“You killed the girl that you love, Mitchell, and you know it,” she said, as the lust took over her body again. The fire in his pupils could only mean one thing: he was in severe distress, and that could only lead to anger. He was about to give in to the evil, just as she had. Celeste wanted him to kill. She wanted to walk side-by-side with him and destroy everything in their path. But she fought against herself.

“Mitchell,” she began.

“Just stop, okay? Just fucking stop,” he replied, standing, straightening his jacket, and turning away from her. 

“No, wait! You know I didn’t say that, John, you know I didn’t!” she screamed, jumping up. He paused and turned around to look at her, confused. 

“Did you just call me ‘John’?”

She look down as he stepped toward her, the fire in his eyes snuffed in an instant. 

“Nobody calls me ‘John’ unless…unless they knew the old me.”

“I guess I must’ve seen it on your license or something…” she tried. 

“You’ve been talking to Herrick, haven’t you?” he blurted, not even bothering to restrain himself. 

“No, Mitchell…” she began.

“Stop lying to me!” he shouted, and the fire was back. “There is only one person on this earth who calls me ‘John’ and that is William Herrick! You’ve been talking to him!” She shook her head desperately. “What did he say to you? Huh? Tell me what he said to you!” Celeste began to break down. Herrick had found her mere hours before, right after she had stormed out. She was vulnerable, and she had believed every word he said. She didn’t know just how dangerous he was. 

“He told me that you would kill me, okay?” she shouted, the last words being emphasised with the breaking of her tear-filled voice. “He told me that sooner or later, you would kill me, and that I should just leave you now! He could recruit me, I could join him and the other vampires, and I could be happy. I could _feed_ without limits. I didn’t want to believe him, but goddammit, I believe him now!” She pushed past Mitchell, slamming her hand into his shoulder and walking away. She knew that what she had said had hurt him, that he felt betrayed by here, but that he wanted to win her back, even though she should have been the one crawling back to him. This time, as she stormed off, she didn’t expect him to follow her. 

She must’ve walked for hours. Celeste soon saw the sun beginning to rise, and knew that she should get indoors somewhat soon. That sun never felt very good on the eyes. She was exhausted. She literally hadn’t slept in a full day. It must’ve been seven in the morning, she thought. Her feet were aching, her head pounded, and worst of all, she was thirsty. It had taken a vast amount of restraint to keep from feeding every time she passed by a pretty little stranger. But now, there wasn’t a stranger in sight. Who would want to be out at eight on a Sunday morning in downtown Barry? 

Then it dawned on her that she had never turned around; never once glanced back to see what Mitchell had done after she stormed away, sanity clouded with confusion and distress. Instinctually, she turned, and her breath caught in her throat. There he was, in his leather jacket and black jeans, about ten yards behind her. He’d been following her the entire night, silently, making sure she wouldn’t kill. He couldn’t allow her to kill. But seeing all those strangers pass by, all of those exposed necks, it was nearly too much for the blood-craving and feeble vampire. His gaze caught her eye just as he collapsed, his body slamming hard against the asphalt. 

“Mitchell!” she screamed as she ran toward his limp body, crumpled up on the ground like a wad of paper. Every past anger, every current ache, had disappeared. Her focus was on him. She didn’t think about blood for a second.

She fell before him, lifting him up and cradling his head against her. 

“Mitchell?” she practically yelled, frantic. She shook him, trying to wake him up. He was incredibly pale, and she knew that something definitely wasn’t right. By now, he was soaked with dank water from the streets, and she was afraid that he would freeze on such a cold night. Without being able to fight off any diseases because he couldn’t make his own blood, something like that was lethal. 

Celeste dragged him toward a building and propped his limp body against the wall. She tried desperately to wake him, but received nothing back except for the slow slumping over of his body. His breathing had slowed tremendously. Even for a man whose heart beat once per minute, he wasn’t doing well. The lust had destroyed him, weakened him, and he needed to feed. It was all her fault. She knew now that there was a reason why Mitchell was always inside, why he liked night shifts in the hospital, being away from people; this was it. 

Almost instinctually, Celeste changed and sank her fangs into her forearm, and she reminisced on Mitchell’s fangs as they punctured her neck that night not too long ago. She could feel the holes in her neck as if they were still there. Snapping back into reality, she released her arm, and saw the flow of her own thin blood begin. She held the would to Mitchell’s perfect lips and opened his mouth. He stirred a little, his closed eyes fluttering, but her blood was no longer human. It was vampire, and she couldn’t help him alone. She wasn’t going to let him die right there. It was her fault that he was dying, because she’d left him; at least that’s what she thought. Now, she had to save him. Being so early in the morning, there was nobody in sight. Nobody to kill. Nobody to bleed. They were only a block away from the flat at this point; Celeste had purposely walked in a wide circle that would end in her going home. She knew he had to be home when he fed. She’d never seen him feed, and at this point, he was totally unpredictable. She didn’t know if it would get ugly or not. She put her arm behind his back and under his armpit and lifted him, the leather of his jacket slipping beneath her grasp, and began struggling to drag him through the streets. She was carrying 160 pounds of dead weight and was surprisingly thankful for being a vampire, as it gave her the strength to do this. 

Within a few minutes, she got him home. Luckily, the doors were unlocked, so she dragged him inside and dropped him on the sofa. Celeste fell to the ground, breathing heavily, but had to force herself up to leave again. She needed to find a victim. She turned to look at Mitchell before closing the door behind her. For the first time, he was at peace. She didn’t know if she would ever see him alive again. She pushed the thought from her mind and rushed outside. 

She stumbled down the steps and into the street, skidding as her boots hit the cobblestones, the street becoming illuminated by the rising sun. She pulled Mitchell’s sunglasses out of her jacket, his jacket, and put them on. Vampires and sun are like water and oil; she realised that pretty quickly. She should have been exhausted, and she had every reason to be. But Mitchell was her world, and without him, she had nobody. She’d be damned if she was going to let him die on her account. He was fine before he recruited her, before he tasted her blood. But now that he had a taste, had been immersed in human life again, he needed more. It weakened him beyond repair. She needed to find him a victim, just this once. There was only one place she could think of that would have people in it at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning that nobody would miss: the pub. So she started running.

She ran faster than she had ever run in her entire life, despite the lingering aching all over her body. The pavement was still damp, and she slid around every corner, barely managing to keep herself upright. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she burst through the door of the pub, panting.

In the dimness of the morning, she could see three people, all men. One was slumped over the bar, completely passed out. The other two were both leaned over a table, knackered as well. The bartender was gone. The entire room reeked of alcohol and urine and dirt. She took in her surroundings for a split second, then decided that the man slumped over the bar was her best choice. There was no way for her to bring him back to the flat; he would wake up and struggle. So she did what any competent and clean vampire would do: broke a glass on the bar and slit his throat. She grabbed a small glass, enough for just a taste, something to keep him alive, and filled it up with the blood that was pouring from the man’s neck. 

His eyes, his human eyes, opened and he began to gasp for breath, clutching his neck unsuccessfully. It took all of Celeste’s restraint not to attack him, to drink all of that blood herself, but she needed to get to Mitchell. She was the only one who could save him now. She watched as the man, her first victim, fell from his barstool and onto the floor, gasping for his last breath as his blood drained onto the disgusting pub floor. Within moments his writhing body finally went still. The commotion has caused the other two drunks to stir, and Celeste quickly rushed back out onto the street. She placed her hand on top of the glass and held it under her jacket so that nobody could see, not that anyone was really outside anyway. With her hand fastened securely on the top, she could run again. After a few minutes, she burst through the inn door, unsure if she was going to find Mitchell alive or dead. 

She rushed to Mitchell’s limp, and seemingly lifeless, body, frantically kneeling next to him. She removed her hand from the top of the glass, tore off her sunglasses, and parted his lips with her fingers. Celeste tilted the glass upward, watching intently as the fresh blood of her first victim spilled into Mitchell’s mouth and down his throat. She emptied the glass and pulled it away, letting it slip from her fingers and land with a soft thud as it bounced on the carpet. She looked at her hand, the hand that had been placed on top of the glass, and saw the blood on it. The blood that had splashed up. The human blood. She’d never tasted that before. Her vampiric instincts began to attack, and an internal battle began to rage. She wanted it, but didn’t. Her hand shook violently as she fought against herself. Finally, with a sharp exhale, she wiped her hand on Mitchell’s black pant leg. With her touch, his body shuddered slightly. Immediately, her attention was back on him. She grabbed his hand with both of hers, and his eyes opened, his hazel irises replaced with obsidian. With a blink and a quick inhale, they were back to the eyes that she had fallen in love with, those gorgeous hazel things. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down gently. 

“Shhh,” she cooed, “Mitchell, it’s okay. Relax. It’s okay.”

“Celeste,” he panted, breathless, “What the hell is going on?” He squeezed her hand tightly, searching for reassurance. 

“Just sit still for a minute and relax. I’ll tell you everything, you just need to relax,” she replied, taking one hand and placing it on his cheek, trying to calm him down. After a few minutes, he finally regained his breath and looked at her, incredibly confused. 

“You followed me,” she explained, “For hours. Do you remember?” He nodded. “I don’t… I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why. And I’m not going to pretend like I do, but you passed out, Mitchell. Right there in front of me. Right in the middle of the street.” He closed his eyes tightly, pressing his thumb and middle finger to his temples, as if trying to remember, or maybe to forget. 

“I brought you home, I carried you, and then I left. I went to the pub,” she said quietly, and she could see in his face that he knew what she was about to say. He already knew the story, and she thought she saw his head shake slightly. “I killed a man, Mitchell. I bled him out all over the pub floor. But I saved you.”

“No,” he whimpered, “please tell me that you didn’t drink from him? Please?”

“Mitchell, I swear on my life that I didn’t drink from him. I killed that man only to save you. Nothing more.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, the sound of pain filling his voice. Then, in a hushed voice, “You should have just let me die.” Celeste looked at him, completely dumbfounded. How dare he tell her that she should have let him die, when she just risked everything to save him? How dare he tell her that she should have let him die, she she let him kill her to save himself? Every part of her wanted to hit him, to knock some sense into him until he could see just how selfish he was. He had made her one of them. Everything he had felt prior to recruiting her, she now understood. So why the sudden change of heart? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t willing to ask him. She just sat down on the floor and leaned against the sofa, staring at the wall. She could sense that he wanted her to say something, but she wasn’t going to. 

“Celeste,” he began, and she cut him off. 

“No, Mitchell,” she said firmly, forcefully, still staring at the wall, “Shut up! I don’t need to hear whatever lies or excuses you have!” 

“Celeste, listen to me,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, jumping up. 

“Stop!” she shouted. “You’re going to try to say something profound and I don’t want to hear it! You _killed_ me, Mitchell! I don’t know why you are still failing to realise that! You killed me to save yourself. And I don’t even get so much as a ‘thank you’ from you! All that you say is that I should have let you die. I, of all people, should have let you die. So whatever you have to say now, just save it, you selfish bastard. I don’t need to hear it.”

Celeste stormed around the corner and up the stairs, and then up into the room that she shared with him. There were so many uninhabited rooms in the godforsaken inn, considering that George and Annie were gone; she didn’t know why Mitchell insisted on sharing a room. But, nevertheless, it belonged partially to her, so that is where she went. She slammed the door behind her as she threw herself onto their bed. She wanted so desperately to cry, to let the tears stream from her eyes and drown her pillow, but nothing happened. She couldn’t so much as cry one simple tear. She knew it then. She was becoming what she had feared from the very start. Her heart was in it, but her body wasn’t. Her heart wanted to fight for humanity, and for Mitchell, but her body wanted just to give up. She pounded her fist against the bed angrily, angry at herself and angry at Mitchell, before she finally gave up and cowered underneath the covers. 

Thinking back on it, she had agreed to letting Mitchell kill her. It was her idea. But she had no idea what she was getting into. She would never had said yes, would she have? No, no, she wouldn’t. That is what she would let herself believe. But part of her knew that she was lying to herself. 

She laid there for a few hours, her body weak with exhaustion but her mind racing too much to let her sleep, staring intensely at nothing before she heard the lock on the door snap. _He’s leaving_ ,she thought, somewhat worried, but somewhat relieved, _He’s going to feed. That little taste wasn’t enough. I woke up the monster._

She jumped slightly when she heard the first footstep on the stairs. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t going to feed. She heard the doorknob to the bedroom turn, but she refused to look as the door opened and Mitchell stepped in, his boots clicking with every step against the wood floor as he walked closer. She felt the bed move as he sat at the foot of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, ashamed, “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Stop apologising to me, Mitchell. It isn’t worth it anymore. You’re wasting your breath,” she replied, still frustrated and angry. 

“You see, that’s where we differ,” he said, “It is worth it to me. You’re worth it. It was wrong of me to bring you into this world when I can barely handle it myself, even after a hundred years. I was selfish. I wanted someone to save me. I wanted somebody to take the pain away, when in reality, I was just causing more harm.”

“You were replacing Annie,” Celeste mumbled. 

“You mean more to me than– wait, how do you know about Annie?”

She sat up, looking at him. His hair was greasy and disheveled, he hadn’t changed out of his clothes and they were now just dirty and caked in filth, and he was paler than a ghost. God, he was a wreck. 

“Mitchell, I talked to Herrick. I know everything. He showed me your file. You have a file, did you know that? I know that the only reason you didn’t kill was because of her. I know that you killed twenty people when she passed over. I know that George locked you in a room for two months just to keep you from killing more. So don’t tell me that I mean more to you than she did. I am her replacement.”

“We were– are, in a relationship that has been going on for over six months. Nobody else is living in this house. I could have killed you the night I met you. I could have snapped whenever I wanted to and killed you just like anyone else I have killed. But I didn’t. Because I love you,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. She yanked it away, holding it tightly against herself. 

“Oh, just save it Mitchell,” she said, and she could tell that he was visibly shocked, “Annie was already dead. She was a ghost when you met her. For the first time in your life, you physically couldn’t kill the woman you loved. But tell me this, if she had been human, would you have fed from her? Or would you have killed her the way you killed me? Or would you have let her live, carrying on keeping your secret until the say she realised that she was old and wrinkled and you weren’t, that you were eternally a twenty-four-year-old Irish soldier?”

“I…I don’t know what I would have done. I really don’t know,” he responded, trying to make sense of the whole situation.

“I think you would’ve done the same thing that you did to me. You would’ve sent her on a guilt trip, and because she loved you just like I loved you, she would’ve done the same thing. All because of you and your selfish desire to be saved. To be human.”

“Loved?” he asked, looking into her eyes, hurt, “Are you saying that you don’t love me anymore?”

It was then that her human self realised that she had been being played. She had meant most of the things that she said, but the vampire threw in a few lines. The lines that hurt Mitchell the most. 

“Of course, of course I love you,” she said, pulling him into her arms. He resisted slightly, then succumbed. _He knows_ , she thought, _Thank god, he knows._

His head against her chest, Mitchell said, “I’m so sorry, I really am. The vampire was there, wasn’t it?” She remained silent and stroked his hair slowly. 

“I should never have dragged you into this mess. I should never have let you fall for me. Damn it, I fell so hard for you. I couldn’t control myself. I was so, so selfish, and I can never live that down. I made you like me because I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone, having to fight for another hundred years alone.”

“Mitchell, please. I’m begging you. Stop. What’s done is done. You can’t change anything. You can’t fix anything. And you and I both know that this whole thing was my idea,” Celeste said, still stroking his hair. 

“You never would have had to make that choice if I had kept my secret from you. Even more so if I had never let you into my life at all.”

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.

“No,” he replied loudly, sitting up abruptly, “Please. Don’t leave me. I need you now more than ever. We…we need each other.” He rested his head back on her chest, and they were both silent for a few minutes. 

Celeste broke the silence. “Mitchell, you fed. I killed someone for you. You drank his blood. And then you and the opportunity to walk out and do it all over again. But you didn’t. Why not?”

“Because I hurt you by doing it.” 

She expected him to continue speaking, but he didn’t. That was it. It was then that she finally understood. Wholly understood. He didn’t need to say anything else. He never wanted this curse any more than she did. It was thrust upon him; she’d read it in the file Herrick gave her. He had no choice whatsoever, not really. Every time he killed, part of him died with his victim. Mitchell was a good person, a truly good person, but the only side of him that society saw was the evil side. The side that he didn’t want and desperately wanted to be rid of. But there was no way to get rid of it, so instead, he fought it. His entire life had been an internal battle between good and evil. 

“Well, you’re much stronger than I am,” Celeste whispered inaudibly as they both drifted off to sleep, absolutely exhausted from the emotional toll of the day. Celeste felt Mitchell stir slightly as he nestled himself closer to her, eager for her touch even in sleep. With that, she herself began to fade into the darkness of sleep, but felt that something wasn’t right as she closed her eyes and disappeared. 

At three o’clock in the morning, her eyes opened suddenly. She’d been sleeping for a good twelve hours, as had Mitchell. She felt all wrong, but all right at the same time. By this point, Mitchell had rolled over and was curled up on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. It was time; everything was perfect. 

She slipped out of bed, still in the same clothes from the previous days. She slid out of them and into some new ones: a fresh pair of black skinny jeans, a tank top, and a tight leather jacket. Pulling on her same pair of old combat boots, nearly identical to Mitchell’s, she snuck out of the bedroom and down the stairs, trying not to wake him. She succeeded in this task and soon found herself outside, in the streets, alone. She knew where to go, however. Just like she had known the first time she did it. She began the short walk to the pub, licking her lips in excitement. 

It only took around ten minutes, but by that time, she was frantic. She found five drunken men slumped over the pub tables, almost exactly how the previous men had been the night before.

_Funny_ , she thought, _I would’ve thought that this place would have been shut down, seeing as how there was a homicide here last night_. 

Then she remembered what Herrick had said; they had an infrastructure in place. She could kill at will, and nobody would ever know. With that reassuring and invigorating thought, she bore her fangs. 

She left the pub extremely satisfied, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. She’d had her first real drink. Celeste walked all the way back home, into the house, up the stairs, and back into bed beside Mitchell, who was still fast asleep. She fell back asleep, a cheeky grin plastered on her face. 

Celeste awoke solely due to that unsettling feeling that you get when you think someone is watching you. She opened her eyes and was pleased to find Mitchell there, staring at her. 

“Good morning,” she said sweetly, smiling. 

“What…what the hell happened? Are you okay?” he asked, a tinge of horror in his voice. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused, sitting up in the bed. 

“You…you…your clothes. You’re covered in dried blood,” he replied, turning his head away as she looked down at her clothes. She was shocked herself. She was drenched in blood, and she knew that it couldn’t have been her own. There was too much of it. 

“Oh no,” she whispered. 

“Celeste,” he said, “please tell me you didn’t…” 

“I couldn’t have!” she yelled, tearing off her jacket and throwing it at the wall. She looked down at her tank top, once red, now a putrid dark brown. “Mitchell, I couldn’t…” 

“Whose blood is that?” he asked, not wanting to believe it.

“I don’t know! I really don’t know! I didn’t do anything, I couldn’t have…” she trailed off. Mitchell just looked at her, utterly horrified. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Mitchell. Did I really?”

“It took over. It won. You let it win,” he said, his voice a mixture of sadness, disappointment, and humility. 

“Mitchell, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know! You know I couldn’t have done this!” She had killed someone, maybe multiple people, she didn’t know. The sincere shock of this began to settle in, and she felt sick. Mitchell just looked at the floor, pondering his options, trying figure out what in the hell to do. 

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” he said softly after a few moments, “I’ll go make some coffee. We need to talk.” With that, he walked out of the room. 

As Mitchell walked down the stairs, his footsteps slow and heavy, she crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, utterly disgusted with and ashamed of herself. 

“How could you do this, Celeste?” she asked herself aloud, quietly, as she undressed and climbed into the scorching hot shower. It burned, but she wanted it to. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted to feel the searing pain. She deserved it, or at least that’s what she thought. She burst into sobs, washing her hair and scrubbing her body vigorously, watching through tears as the brownish-red film of dried blood washed from her skin and down the drain. Her skin began turning red and raw, but she didn’t care. Some small part of her was hoping that if she scrubbed hard enough, she could scrub the layer of vampire off of herself. But she knew she couldn’t. 

After her shower, Celeste dried off and got dressed, just a plain pair of old blue jeans and a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt. She put her wet hair into a messy bun, trying to compose herself, and cautiously walked downstairs, unsure of what state she was going to find Mitchell in. As she walked into the kitchen, she saw Mitchell sitting at the table, his mug of strong coffee tightly between his two gloved hands. He looked up at her, and she saw a mixture of disappointment and shame on his face. She sat down across from him and picked up her own mug of coffee, taking a sip. It was her first since becoming a vampire. Before, she has always like sweet coffee, with extra cream and extra sugar. Now, she sipped it black, and liked it. Maybe it was just that she didn’t care anymore. 

“Celeste…” Mitchell began, “I want to start off by saying that I’m sorry. This is all my fault, and I can never, ever repay you for doing what you did.”

“I need you to stop saying that you are sorry, and I need you to stop thanking me. Nothing good has come from this at all, Mitchell. I’ve made it worse,” Celeste said, staring into her coffee deeply, as if it was going to help fix this. 

“Fine,” he replied. All was quiet for a moment. “Do you remember what you made me promise the night I turned you?” he said suddenly, looking at her intensely. 

She frowned, trying to remember, when all of a sudden it hit her. Her heart sank and her veins pounded with fear. “Mitchell, I promise you, it won’t happen again. Please.”

“I let it go the first time, because you saved me. That was so very wrong of me. I was so selfish. It is my fault that you killed the others. But you made me promise.”

“Mitchell!” she yelled, standing up from the chair quickly, knocking it over. Mitchell watched as it skittered across the kitchen. “You aren’t actually thinking about this, are you? Please, Mitchell, please don’t.” 

Mitchell just shrugged, his face emanating both doubt and wonder, as Celeste stared blankly at him. Between their two steaming mugs of coffee, directly in the middle of the table, lay a stake. 

They were silent for a few moments, the reality of the situation providing a haunting echo in both of their heads. His hands were shaking as he traced the line of the table with his fingertips, as he always did. She was just staring at him with wide eyes, trying to figure out if he was actually going to do it. 

“Mitchell,” she said quietly, “please.”

“I promised you that I would do it. This sudden change of heart, I can’t tell, is it your or is it the vampire? It feels like my heart is being torn from my body. I just don’t know what to do anymore. If I kill you, I’ll have to live with that forever. If I don’t and you kill more, I’ll have to live with that forever. And forever literally means _forever_. I just…” he trailed off, and Celeste reacher her hand toward his living it into her own to keep him from etching lines in the table with his fingernails. 

“I know now what it can do. And I won’t let it happen again. Please, Mitchell, please,” she begged, an air of desperation in her voice, “Give me another chance.”

He pondered the idea for a second, gnawing on the fingernails on his left hand while she still held his right hand tightly. Every instinct was telling him to just kill her, and she knew that. 

“Okay,” he said, “but if you kill, I won’t have a choice.” 

“I know,” she replied with an exhale of relief, “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Mitchell replied, releasing her hand, “Please, don’t you dare thank me for doing this.”

She sighed and nodded, understanding that if she killed again, he would live knowing that he let her do it, and that it was his fault. 

“Do you want to go watch the telly or something?” she asked him, trying to change the subject of her own death, “I think they’re showing a rerun of _The Real Hustle_ in about ten minutes.” 

A small glimmer of hope in his eyes, he stood up from his chair and walked into the living room, and she followed closely behind him. He sat on the sofa and turned on the telly, as she, not knowing quite what to do, sat as far away from him as she could. He turned and looked at her. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

She just shrugged, and he moved over to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him. He kissed the top of her head and then rested his cheek against it. 

“Everything is going to be fine, okay?” Mitchell said, squeezing her a little, “We’re still together. I still love you. We’re going to fix this.” 

Every part of her was questioning this. He was just suppressing the reality of it. She knew that they weren’t fine at all. The human side of Mitchell desperately wanted everything to be normal, but she knew that nothing would ever be normal again. She didn’t even know what normal meant anymore. Still, she gave in. Even though all she really wanted to do was go feed, she wrapped her arm around Mitchell’s torso and held him tightly as _The Real Hustle_ began to play. She was reasonably content, trying to push the desire to feed out of her head. 

All of these emotions, the near-death experiences, had left them quite knackered, despite the twelve hours of sleep already, and Celeste fell asleep pressed against Mitchell, her head resting on his shoulder and his head resting on top of hers. They held onto each other as if their lives, or lack thereof, depended on it. Quite a few hours later, a crack of lightning followed by a clap of thunder woke Celeste abruptly, and as her eyes adjusted, she was able to take in her surroundings. She had released her grip on Mitchell, but was still resting against him. Being somewhat clean had drained the energy out of him completely. She felt every breath that he took as she looked around, unable to make out anything except for darkness. Lightning continued to flash, providing a clear image of the room for just a moment. She looked up and saw Mitchell’s face as it was illuminated by the lightning. She had expected to see him at peace, but instead, he was grimacing, his eyebrows furrowed. He began to twitch ever-so-slightly, mumbling something incoherently. Celeste realised that he was having a nightmare. She didn’t even know that vampires could have nightmares, considering that their entire existences were in fact nightmares themselves. But, surprisingly, they could happen, and Mitchell was experiencing one right in front of her. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so she just stared at him for a few moments, wondering what was going on in his mind. His breathing sped up and his incoherent mumbling became louder, and she knew that she needed to do something. 

“Mitchell,” she said softly, sitting up and nudging him slightly. Nothing. 

“Mitchell,” Celeste repeated, a little louder, shaking him a bit harder. Still no response. 

“Mitchell,” she practically shouted, shaking him even more. At this, he awoke violently, panting, and looked around anxiously. She cupped his face in her hand and forced his head towards her, looking into his dazed eyes as his finally found her own. 

“Mitchell, are you okay?” she asked nervously. Something clicked in his eyes and he snapped back into reality. As he locked eyes with hers, he seemed to recognise her again. Immediately, he grabbed her and held her closer to him than ever before, his fingers in her hair, pulling her into him. 

“Mitchell, what’re you doing? What’s wrong?” Celeste implored, putting her hands on his chest to push away. 

“No,” he whispered, holding her tighter, “please. I need you. Please.” She relaxed, but still questioned him. 

“You need to tell me what is going on.”

He was silent for a moment, then whispered almost inaudibly, “I lost you.”

“What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about?” she asked him, trying to make sense of it all. 

“In…in my nightmare,” he practically gasped, swallowing hard, “You died. You _really_ died.”

“Mitchell, I don’t understand…”

“I killed you,” he said flatly, the thunder continuing to roll around them, shaking the inn,  “I staked you right here, right here in the living room.” He still held tightly to her, as if he were afraid to let go. 

“It was just a nightmare, you know that,” she said, her cheek pressed tightly against his shoulder. 

“But what if it wasn’t?” he asked, releasing her, but instead holding her arms so that he could look at her without her running away. “What if it was, I don’t know, like a prophecy?” 

“Mitchell, we slept through the entire day. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but he interrupted her. 

“But I _killed_ you.”

“It was just a nightmare,” Celeste repeated, “Everything is going to be fine. I’m right here. I’m okay.” She pulled her arms from his grasp and wrapped them around his shoulders and back, bringing him close. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding onto her and quietly sobbing into her chest. She stroked his hair in an attempt to comfort him. Celeste had seen the pain in his face when his eyes began to water. She knew that he was keeping something from her. There was no way that a simple nightmare could have hurt him that much. Something else had happened in that dream, but she didn’t want to ask. She didn’t even want to know. 

After a few minutes of silence, Mitchell composed himself and sat back up. He just stayed there, staring at the wall, for an indefinite amount of time. By this point, the storm had passed and the sun was forcing itself up. The telly, which had been on all day and night, was now playing those horrible infomercials that only play at the wee hours of the morning. Standing up, Celeste shut the telly off and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. She walked by the table, and noticed the stake still between the two mugs of now cold coffee from the night before. She put the mugs into the sink and picked up the stake, looking at it, running her fingertips over the sharp point, pondering what to do with it. She put it into a random drawer, attempting to rid herself of any association with it.

Chasing the thought from her mind, she continued to make coffee. As she poured the scorching hot liquid into two mugs, Celeste felt two arms slip around her waist. Mitchell rested his chin on her shoulder, still completely silent, as he folded his hands over her stomach. She closed her eyes momentarily, then turned to hand him his coffee. A small smile escaped from his lips as he grasped the cup in both hands, walking to the table. She sat down opposite him, and they both sipped their black coffees, silent. After five awkward minutes, Celeste finally had to say something. 

“So?” she asked, “What do we do now?” 

Without a moment’s hesitation he replied, “What we’ve always done. Try to be human.”

They spent the entire rest of the day sitting on the sofa, both of them not only content together, but also struck by a lingering fear that they would give in to the lust if they went into public. Mitchell had brought her into this world blindly, but Herrick had explained it all to her that night. 

Mitchell wasn’t the first vampire to try to go clean. Hell, Herrick even tried it once. The thing was, however, it never lasted. Not a single vampire in the thousands of years of their existence succeeded in staying dry. The lust was a sickness of the mind. It’s not just a craving; it’s down to a cellular level. The human in a person may think that they want to be dry, but once a vampire, the body simply cannot handle it. Everything shuts down. Sweating, shaking, nausea, and pure misery. And that’s when it hit her. That night she left, the night Mitchell followed her, he collapsed because he was clean. Too clean. His mind/body connection was all wrong. He had lived the last fifty years believing that he wanted to be good, when his body simply couldn’t handle that. The only remedy is feeding. A cruel business, but the only way to live. So why were they even trying?

“Mitchell,” Celeste whispered after hours of awkward dead silence, staring at the telly, “Is any of this really worth it?” 

“No,” he replied,  more truthfully than ever, “It’s hardly worth any of this pain.”

“Then how have you survived these hundred years?” she implored. 

He chuckled lightly, his bright toothy grin flashing, his two crooked front teeth giving him an air of childishness. He shook his head.

“This is going to sound so…cliché.”

“Try me.”

“Love.”

“Love?”

“I’ve had my fair share of flings, Celeste. But either I get hurt or they do. The good times, though, the sweet, pure love that we share, even if only for a passing moment, is what I live for. It keeps me human.”

“How can you even think of yourself as human in a world like this?”

“Because it’s the only hope I have left to cling to. Without it, I let the monster win. And I can’t let that happen.”

“You’re just putting yourself through endless misery and suffering. All it takes is a piece of wood. Drive it through your heart, you can off yourself and it’s all over. You can have peace.”

“You’re right. But I will never have peace unless I feel as though I have lived. I was still but a child, young and afraid, when I was thrust into this world. I didn’t want this. I did it to protect my men.”

“You did it for a noble cause. So what’s my excuse?”

“You did it in an attempt to help the man you love. Some people will do anything for love, eh?” 

She smiled and nodded slightly. They stayed quiet for the better half of an hour. She knew that he had something on his mind, some deeper worry buried within him, but she wasn’t going to dig it out. So she was left to her own thoughts. 

After a while, Mitchell jumped up suddenly, tearing up his shirt sleeve and looking at his watch with panic. 

“Shit,” he whispered, rushing toward the door and throwing his bright red jumper on. 

“What is is?” she asked, turning around on the sofa to look at him. 

“I started up my shifts again at the hospital. We have no source of income, and we need one. And I’m gonna be late. I gotta go,” he replied, stepping over to her and planting a quick peck on her lips before rushing back to the door. “Be safe, stay here, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

As he left, the door clicking sharply as he shut it, Celeste sighed. Having the inn to herself was something she dreaded. There was too much space. There could be someone, anyone, occupying it, living or dead. Alone, she didn’t feel safe, even with herself. She felt safe with Mitchell, knowing he would protect her with his life. 

Oh, Mitchell. Her sweet, sweet Mitchell. So desperate to protect humanity, though it would most certainly destroy him. What went on in that pretty little head of his, she wondered. Despite his noble attempt, and despite her seemingly-convinced attitude toward it, she was wary. None of this pain, none of this torment, was worth it at all, no matter what Mitchell said. He believed in love. She believed in lust. Maybe she did love him once, but now, for some reason, that feeling was disappearing. She didn’t want to be human. She didn’t even want to try. She was a vampire, and she was going to act like one. 

She sat there on the sofa of the inn, twiddling her thumbs, before she stood up and ran upstairs, each creak of the old wooden stairs like a wolf’s howl. She stripped out of her clothing and threw on a new pair of black jeans, one of Mitchell’s old plaids, and his old, tattered leather jacket, the one that falls just below his knees, the one he wore when he relapsed, the one he keeps tucked away in the bottom drawer of the dresser. It fit well, much to her surprise. She snatched a notebook and pen from the drawer of the bedside table, sat cross-legged on the bed, and hurriedly scribbled something down. Leaving the notebook strewn on the bed, she rushed back down the stairs again and out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. 

Celeste took a moment to take it all in. The crisp, fall air of Barry stinging against her skin, sending what would be shivers down her spine. Strange, the cold didn’t affect her as much as it once did. The light emanating from the moon mixed with the harsh glow of the street lamps to produce a lovely path of paleness along the cobblestones. She took it as a perfect lead. This night needed to be special. She walked along the sidewalks for a while, heart racing as every stranger passed, their necks fully exposed, as if taunting her. 

Finally, she caved. She spotted the old alleyway, the one she’d passed so many times, with a lovely couple lip locked in the dark corner. They were awfully similar to the couple that she almost killed that night, Celeste reminisced. But there was no Mitchell to stop her. 

She stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of Mitchell’s leather. The old Celeste would have been absolutely horrified by those screams. But that wasn’t her, not anymore. She fed off of those screams. Those beautiful screams. That adorable couple’s faces as they watched her eyes turn black and her fangs appear. The pure relief that flooded through her body as their sweet, rich blood poured down her throat. Why would you want to give up this life?

Mitchell tore off his scrubs in the staff room and slipped on his usual black jeans and that flashy red jumper. He was desperate to get back to the inn. This new hospital was all sorts of strange. He missed the old one in Bristol, as nasty as it was. And he missed George. God, did he miss George. Here, he just wandered the halls, clearing up whatever mess he could find, staying out of everyone’s way. He didn’t know a single person, nor did anyone even attempt to talk to him. Mitchell, the social butterfly of vampires, was alone. He just wanted to get back to Celeste, to hold her close to him and escape from everything. 

He’d seen a trauma patient, car wreck victim, multiple deep lacerations, spilling out blood all over the linoleum. It was his job to clean it up. He hesitated before pressing that mop to the floor, though. His hands shook, everything shook, as he fought the overwhelming urge. White noise clouded his every thought. Finally, he did it. Swirling the mop on the floor, he breathed with relief as he watched the blood mix with the water and soap and disappear. It was too close, though. Too close. Shaking the memory and picking up his bag from the table, he rushed out of the room and down the hallway, pushing open the door and heading out toward his car. Reaching the inn, he sighed as he shut the car door, craving a hot cup of tea and Celeste’s embrace. 

“Celeste, I’m back,” he called out, shutting the inn door behind him. When he didn’t hear a response, a mild panic set in. “Celeste? Celeste, where are you?” 

He began to rush around the inn, cursing the fact that it was so large, calling out her name and searching every room for her. Eventually he halted, raking his fingers through his hair, racking his brain. Finally, it hit him. 

“Oh no,” he whispered, running out of the door and down the street. 

She’d just finished off two more, one a blonde teenage girl with a pink dress that was too short and too tight and a face covered with too much makeup, and the other a man, mid-twenties, quiet type. Both equally satisfying. Celeste was surprised and pleased that nobody had heard the screams. Well, maybe they had. The crime rate in Barry wasn’t entirely low. There was that possibility that nobody actually cared. Which made her job much, much easier. 

She took a step out of the alleyway, prepared for her next snack, but her senses, keen and alert, told her immediately that he was behind her. Her lustful eyes met his innocent ones, before his ventured into the dark depths of the alleyway, landing upon her last victim, the girl, crumpled up in the corner. His lips parted a bit in horror, before his eyes met Celeste’s again.

“Wh–what the hell did you do?” he asked, hurt, the pain eminent in his voice. He already knew the answer. But he wanted to hear her say it. 

“What we were designed to do, Mitchell,” she replied, “It’s just nature.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes glossing with tears that he held back. “You promised me that you would save me. That you wouldn’t kill. This,” he said, pointing at the lifeless girl in the corner, “This is not natural. This is monstrous.”

“Oh, Mitchell. My sweet, sweet Mitchell. Tsk-tsk,” Celeste cooed, “You’ve been fighting it for far too long. It’s in your DNA. It’s _you_. You can’t fight it. So embrace it. Embrace it with me.” She stepped closer to him, resting her blood-soaked hands on his chest lightly. He closed his eyes tightly, bowing his head and shaking it, as if to shake out this nightmare of a reality. 

“You know I can’t do that,” he replied after a moment, looking deeply into her blood-crazed eyes. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do with the whole situation. Finally, he gripped her hand tightly. “Let’s go,” he said firmly and began dragging her down the street behind him, back toward the inn. She hardly resisted, something that surprised him greatly.

After a rough and intense walk back to the inn, he opened the doors and thrust her inside, any sort of mercy that he had had completely gone. He slammed the door behind him, a split second separating the crash of the door and the boom of his voice.  

“The only reason I brought you into this world is because I thought you could handle it! You were stronger than I could ever be! You were going to help me! And now, now you’ve betrayed me,” he yelled as she stood there in the middle of the room, defenceless. He knew full well that she was more vampire than human, but he knew the real Celeste was in there somewhere. He wanted to coax her out. He knew that this wasn’t her, but he simply could not hide his rage. 

“It’s who we are!” she screamed, “For God’s sake, Mitchell, why can’t you accept that? We _need_ to feed, we _need_ to kill, it is part of us!”

“It is only a part of us if you let it be!” he shouted back. 

“Then maybe I’m letting it be,” she said softly. Mitchell was quiet for a moment, his eyes visibly welling up with tears. He couldn’t believe that this was happening; it was much too soon. It hadn’t even been a week. Oh god, what had he done?

“You made me promise, Celeste,” he said sorrowfully. 

She bowed her head and nodded understandingly. She turned and walked away, into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later, the stake she had hidden held loosely in her hand at her side. She walked straight up to Mitchell, and he flinched slightly, thinking she was going to stake him. Instead, she pressed the stake flatly against his chest and placed his hand over it. 

“Do it.”

He wrapped his gloved fist tightly around the stake with his right hand, and took her left hand with his own. He led her to the sofa, sitting her down and then sitting down beside her. 

“You know I have to do this, right?” he asked, his watering eyes looking deeply into hers. 

“I know,” she replied. 

“I’m so sorry that I did this to you. I’m so, so sorry,” he choked out. She pressed her hand to his cheek. 

“Don’t apologise for this. This is my fault. Don’t cry for me, John. See? I’m not crying. I don’t want to save humanity. I want to destroy it.”

“Stop, Celeste. Please, sweetheart, you’re lying to me. You don’t. You don’t.”

“I do, John. I do. I want to go back to America, I want to find my family, and I want to tear their throats out. And I want to kill anyone and anything that tries to stop me,” she said. Her voice wasn’t sweet like the Celeste he knew. It was cold, harsh, and bitter. Mitchell knew that he would never see that girl, the one he loved, again. 

“No,” he whispered. 

Celeste, acting on impulse, grabbed the stake and pressed the point against her chest. 

“Do it. You need to do it,” she said firmly. 

“I can’t,” he whimpered. 

“You have to. Right now.” 

He pressed his left hand to her cheek, his right hand still clutching the stake. His ring finger twirled a small strand of her hair unknowingly. He kissed her firmly, relishing this last moment with her, even if she had changed.

“I love you. More than I have ever loved anyone, and more than I ever will love anyone. You were the love of my long life.”

“And you were the love of mine.” The sweetness in her voice, the one that was lost but was now found again, pierced Mitchell’s heart just as he drove the stake into her chest.

_Oh no_ , he thought, immediately regretting everything, _That was her. That was my Celeste_. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched her disappear, the stake falling onto the sofa beside him, her clothes the only part of her remaining. He broke down, grabbing the stake and hurling it at the wall. The tears didn't last long, and soon, he just felt empty. He felt empty without her. 

He dragged himself off of the sofa and trudged up the stairs, fully prepared to lay in their bed until he died. When he got to the room, however, he saw the notebook, carelessly thrown into the middle of the sheets. He sat at the foot of the bed and picked it up. 

 

_My darling Mitchell,_

 

_If you’re reading this, then I must be gone. Don’t be sad for me, my love. Don’t cry for me. If you’re reading this, then I must have said things that crushed your heart. For that, I am so sorry. But know this: I didn’t mean them. I had to say them because I had to make you disown me. It was the only way. You know that now. You never would have gone through with it if I hadn’t. I didn’t mean anything I said. I would have killed again, and you know that as well. It is better this way. It is. Thank you for being my one true love. You’ll find someone else. I know you will. Don’t forget me. Just be human._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Celeste_

 

Mitchell put his head in his hands and sobbed. He’d killed her. Exactly how he’d seen in the nightmare. 

 

 

 


End file.
